


The Usual Mistakes

by ljs



Category: Indiana Jones Series
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:10:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljs/pseuds/ljs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-<i>Crystal Skull</i>.</p>
<p>For Paratti.</p>
<p>
  <i>“Don't even start, Marion,” Indy says, even as he crouches to check their supplies.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Usual Mistakes

“Don't even start, Marion,” Indy says, even as he crouches to check their supplies.

She enjoys the sight of him balancing in the sand, the pull of his thin white shirt across his shoulders, the stretch of chino fabric across his thighs. But because she also enjoys needling him –“Start what, Jones?”

Her answer is a glare under furrowed brows before he goes down on his knees and opens his pack.

“I mean, do you think that I'm going to mention your terrible choice in pilots?” she says. “Do you think I'm going to mention he's left us on the wrong goddamn Greek island until tomorrow?”

His glare is more serious this time, with that adorably pissy compression of his mouth. There are lines of age and experience bracketing that mouth now, but she suddenly remembers a much younger Indy, a night in a tent with her father nearby, a flicker of lantern-light on his stubborn face before he'd surrendered. Only for the night back then. They'd been so stupid.

It's an hour or two before noon now, and they're growing old. Sun glints off the silver in his hair, the gold wedding ring on his left hand. 

“Marion, I said _don't start_ ,” he grits out.

“Indy,” she says, laughing the laugh of the victor, “we started _years_ ago.”

Narrowing his eyes against the sun, he sits back on his heels and inspects her. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “You sure, honey? 'Cause you look the same to me.”

“Oh for God's sake, did you leave your glasses in the plane?” But her laugh is stronger now, and it carries her across the beach to him, carries her down and into his arms.

He lets her momentum take him onto his back. She follows, sliding over him and then easing onto her side next to him. He doesn't let go.

They hold onto each other for a moment, as gulls cry overhead and the sea roars on this stretch of sand amidst white rocks. It's blinding, the happiness she feels, and she buries her face against his chest. “We can just stay here until tomorrow,” she murmurs. “Here, on this beach.”

“Sand-fleas,” he murmurs back.

She smacks his back for that, but not unduly hard. “You got a better idea?”

“Always,” he says, and kisses her temple. 

“Arrogance.” The word is a sigh. “But not completely unjustified, Jones.”

“You say the sweetest things, honey.” He cuddles her closer, just as the growl of an engine takes over from the sea. The sound's coming behind the rocks, she realizes, and then the engine stops.

He sits up first, putting himself between her and the rocks. Old habits die hard, she thinks with mingled annoyance and love, and then rests her chin on his shoulder so that she can see.

A man wearing a fisherman's hat is peering over the rocks. “Taxi?” he says.

Marion collapses into laughter. “Only you, Indy. Only you could find a taxi on an ostensibly deserted island.”

“Yes!” Indy calls to the man, and then, his hand covering hers where it rests on his arm, he says softly, “I'm very good at finding things. Getting better at keeping them.”

She kisses his shoulder. “Maybe you can even find a hotel.”

“Yeah. With wine. And a bed.”

They grin at each other before they get to their feet – more slowly than they used to, but still smooth and coordinated. They grab their packs, lock hands, and start heading for their ride. But she has to ask. “Did you bring any money?”

“Don't even start, Marion.”

“I'm just thinking of that time in--”

“ _Don't start_.”

“We started years ago, Jones,” she says, and leaps up, still holding his hand.


End file.
